


You Need to Relax

by AmputeeTrainee



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Daedra Worship (Elder Scrolls), Daedric Princes (Elder Scrolls), Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmputeeTrainee/pseuds/AmputeeTrainee
Summary: Sanguine goes out for a night of revelry, crashes a cult, pesters the all-knowing bastard, and gets way more than he bargained.
Relationships: Hermaeus Mora/Sanguine
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	You Need to Relax

It is incredibly easy to become mind-numbingly bored as a Daedric Prince. When you can spend endless eons existing, time starts to feel relatively meaningless. Years flow one into the next without much distinction.

On the whole, Sanguine finds mortals to be a fun distraction. It wasn't hard to tempt some of them one way or another with a drink, the allure of power, or pleasures of the flesh to do his bidding. The latest fun he'd had was with the Dragonborn and before that, the Hero of Kvatch. 

The mighty Dragonborn, choose of Akatosh, pledging their undying, drunken love to a Hagraven? Positively delightful. And ah, he can still almost hear the shrieks of horror as the Hero disrobed all of those stuffy nobles in the middle of that tearfully boring diner party. The cries of dismay and humiliation were music to his ears. For having a stick up her ass, the leading countess had been well endowed. 

Yes, he definitely enjoys tinkering with mortals' lives for his amusement and telling his exploits to his sinners. The Myriad Realms of Revelry are delightful as always. Still, its charms would be sweeter with newer, more devilish tales to regale to his followers. 

"Ladies and gents, a toast, to a night on the town," Sanguine addresses the table before him, lifting a tankard of brandy.

Bouts of 'Here, here' follow. Mug and tankards clink. Sanguine brings the rim of his drink to black lips and downs it in a single gulp. The sinners at the table follow his lead. With a hearty gasp, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tosses the tankard aside.

"Now, let's see what the evening brings."

Carelessly, he casts open a portal into the Nirn. He doesn't know where it leads at all. No, that's part of the fun. He's chosen a place nearly at random. The primary indicator that drew him was a point of calling, a collective praying to a higher power. The call isn't for him, but he can feel the draw of invocation all the same. 

Time to crash a party. 

Sanguine's form shifts as he jumps into the portal. His imposing height shrinks. Black and red skin fade into a tan hue. Midnight hair turns chestnut brown. His heavy Daedric armor becomes a simple black robe. While he could pick nearly any form, Sanguine favors the old Breton alias he's made up: Sam Guevenne. 

He falls from the sky and plummets down onto the rocky hillside. Sam lands unscathed on his backside. He's a little clumsy in his mortal disguise, but can't truly be injured in any conventional way. 

Now...where in the Nirn is he? 

The mountainside offers few clues. Nothing but trees, craggy rocks, and towering peaks. Hum, pretty drab. 

He hoped the pull of whatever prayer he'd caught led to somewhere more interesting; a lively town or directly inside a building. Once, he'd landed in a Mara nunnery. Oh, how entertaining that had been. 

He's not as mad as Sheogorath, but Sanguine is secure enough to admit that he doesn't always think things through all the way either. And this seems like one of those times. Well, he could have chosen a better spot. But he decided to do this on a whim, so might as well get to walking and see what awaits him.

He follows the thrum of energy higher in the mountains. Climbing the steep incline makes for thirsty work. Sam pauses to conjure another tankard full of brandy into being with a snap of his fingers. Slipping on his drink, he begins to knit together where exactly he is. 

He's likely in Tamriel. The piney scent in the air indicates he's close to the north, but the embrace of humidity even this high in the mountains means this wasn't Skyrim. No, further south. Somewhere in Cyrodiil, probably? Maybe Burma considering the hilly landscape.

The fact he's in the middle of nowhere means that he's been pulled to a Daedric shine, not an Aedra. Those who worship his kin often do so in little hidey-holes across the far reaches of the Nirn, lest others try to stop them. 

Sam catches sight of flickering torchlight beaming through the tree trunks. He follows the light to the mouth of a cave. The yawing entrance filled with stalagmites and stalactites looks like the maul of a monster. Yes, this is definitely family territory. 

In the glowing light stands a hooded figure, a mage by the looks of their green embroidered robes. Sam nears, and the mage holds out a yellowish hand. Ah, an Altmer. 

"Halt, you are not to be here," the mage orders stiffly. 

"I mean, between the two of us, no one's really supposed to be at Daedric shrines, right? Do you really think I'd climb all the way up here if I wasn't a worshiper?" Sam replies cheekily. 

"I don't recognize you." The mer gazes at him from head to toe. 

Sam draws closer, barely a step away.

"Well, then. That makes two of us. But I love meeting new people. And one of the best ways to start a new friendship is to make toast."

"I haven't any idea where you're going with this…"

Sam laughs and holds out his cup. "Here, have a drink on me." 

"I am not some common drunkard. Leave. This is your last warning," the Altmer sneers in disgust.

Ugh, the mer, especially Altmers, could be such downers sometimes. Most of them were too haughty for his liking, but there were ways around that. 

"I insist," Sam says, holding the cup higher, almost pressing it to the mer's mouth. 

The mer's amber hand darts quickly to his belt, clearly intent on drawing the enchanted dagger hanging there. Fast, but not fast enough. Sanguine's dark eyes flash red, burning with fire and brimstone for a moment. 

The Altmer freezes. A gasp leaves pale yellow lips. Seeing an opening, Sam tips his cup back. Liquid spills into the mage's mouth and down his amber chin. 

The mer sputters but accidentally swallows some of the drink. Usually, Sam likes to be a bit more subtle about getting mortals under his sway. But this way, he'll be able to access the cave without much violence. 

“W...what are you?” The mer stammers.

Sam's special brew could be a bit intense, especially when drunk straight. That and sharing a drink with a Daedric Prince out of the same cup could definitely compromise one's senses. Sam knew his saliva could dull the mind faster than skooma.

"Just one of the family," Sam answers. Holding out the tankard, he coaxes, "Here, keep it. Take another sip."

Sanguine presses the cup into the mer's hands and clasps him on the shoulder. Under his spell now, the mage does as ordered and takes a hearty swig. Lowering the half-empty cup, the Altmer starts to sway on his feet.

"Wonderful," Sam congratulates. "See, not so bad. What's your name?"

“Saruu...Saruriil,” The mer manages after a moment.

"Good to meet you, Sar. I'm Sam. Mind if I call you Sar?" He asks, and the mer shakes his head no. "Great. Now, why don't you show me around? I'd like to greet the Prince and see who's at home here." 

He tosses a friendly arm around the woozy mer's shoulders, steering them toward the mouth of the cave.

"Jou know the mashter?" Saruriil asks words slurring. 

"I sure do, probably better than any of you. Come on, it sounds like we're missing the party," Sam encourages.

The cave is sporadically lit. The deeper they go, the eerier the flickering cauldrons of light became. The fire seems to dazzle like emeralds further inside rather than real red, hot flame. All of his Daedric brethren have a flair for the dramatic without fault, but Sanguine was starting to suspect who's shine he'd stumbled across. 

Together, he and mer walk down the chiseled stone steps of the cold cave. The sounds of chanting echo in the distance—the lord of fate, the all-seeing, the knower of the unknown. 

The words are a dead giveaway. When Sam and his new buddy enter the spacious cavern, he isn't at all surprised to find a metallic statue of a globular mass of tentacles, eyeballs, and claws on a pedestal dominating the space. Hermaeus Mora. About a dozen or so robed figures circle the statue, chatting in time.

Oh man, it has got to be several decades since he last pestered the all-knowing bastard. Sanguine knew that despite what his kin might say otherwise, he's excellent at reunions. 

Two cloaked figures in the back of the crowd turn as their footsteps near. 

"Saruriil?" A fair Nordic woman asks in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

At the question, several other members turn around—distrust and disbelief flicker in their eyes. 

"He, he ashed to see the mashter," the wasted Altmer replies, leaning heavily on Sam to stay upright.

"And who are you?" the woman snaps. 

"Oh, just a curious family member looking to spice things up."

"A what?" The Nord questions, eyes narrowing.

"You need to leave, now," another mer, a Dunmer this time, approaches with an elven dagger drawn.

"Hey, come on, I just got here," Sam insists, nudging the sloshed mer toward his fellow cult members. "Here, you watch Sar. But if you wanna help him finish his drink, be my guest. You could _definitely_ use it. Did wonders for him."

The woman catches the mer as he stumbles forward. The weight of the tall Altmer brings both the cultists their knees. 

"How dare you act so immoral in the Master's shine," the Dunmer hisses. The dark elf raises his dagger as flames dance between the fingers of his other hand. "You debase this house of knowledge with your crass behavior!"

"Hey, that's what I'm good at." Sam shrugs. "You know, if you really want to learn something, you might as well start praying to a Daedric Prince who actually answers back."

Without care, Sam strides past the cult members toward the statue.

"Hey, Mora!" Sam calls loudly, hands cupping his mouth.

Once at the foot of the statue, he raps his knuckles against it. A hollow ringing sound erupts like a gong, but nothing else. 

"Come on, you big'ol ball of slime. Wake up! You've got guests," Sam tries again. When nothing but silence greets him, he turns to face the cult with out-turned hands. "See, told you."

"Die debaser!" the Dunmer howls behind him.

Sam glances at the mer in time to see a bolt of fire hurling toward him. He doesn't move, and the flames strike the side of his face. The magic tingles but doesn't burn. Harmless, mostly. The touch of fire does reveal him for what he is, though, melting away half of Sanguine's human façade. 

"Ah, ah. Looks like you're going to have to do better than that," Sam says with a grin, opening his completely black eye.

"A Daedra!" 

Several gasps follow, and Sam figures a good portion of his ashen face and ruddy tattoos must have been revealed by the flames.

"See, told you I was family," Sam quirks his eyebrows. 

Suddenly, the ground quakes beneath their feet. Sam staggers, trying to stay standing. The rock ceiling above them splits and cracks, sending stalactites and debris down. Several cult members scream and run, clearly fearing for their lives in a cave-in. 

"Sanguine…" a voice as deep and churning as the sea rumbles. "How dare you disturb my shine with your...foul behavior."

Ah, classic Hermaeus. Even when angry, his voice ebbs and flows like the tide. Cries of 'Master!' gasp behind him. Sam casts a glance back to watch the most faithful cult members prostrate themselves on the cave floor. Mortal could be so ridiculous sometimes.

"Mora! Long time, still no see. But great to hear from you, though," Sam greets off-handedly. 

"Leave...now," The disembodied voice booms. 

"No, don't think so. I'm having a blast." Sanguine says, resting his arms behind his head, relaxed. "Already took one to the face, too."

"I will not...ask again," the Abyss warns. 

"Then make me," Sanguine challenges with a smirk. 

The ground rumbles again. Black spots appear before Sam's eyes and coalesce into one large void in front of the statue. Before he can move, slimy, green tendrils erupt from the darkness and ensnare him around the middle, tight enough to break ribs had he been mortal.

He turns to look back again, catching the fearful stares of the remaining cult members.

"Well, looks like I gotta go." Sanguine offers a little wave to the remaining cult members who stare at him and the yawning void, too stunned to do anything but gawk. 

Saruriil is the only one who waves back, still kneeling on the floor with his head resting on the buxom Nord's shoulder. 

"Hesha fun man." Sam hears the Altmer slur before the tentacles yank him roughly into the void.

Sanguine can't help but laugh as the inky darkness envelops him.

* * *

When Sanguine opens his eyes again, a chaotic green sky greets him, shining like a fractured aurora borealis. Ah, Apocrypha. Not as homey as the Myriad Realms of Revelry, but his brother didn't share the same love of creature comforts. 

Sanguine finds himself lying on a flat, circular platform. The wide shelf is made from a stack of books that rise from a black, oil-slicked ocean that stretches as far as the eye can see. Everything here is constructed from Hermaeus's favorite thing, knowledge. 

The old tomes are stacked into non-euclidean shapes, stuck together by what appears to be sandy silt from the bottom of the sea. His gaze sweeps over the tunneling walkways, spiraling cathedrals, and rising platforms in the distance. All the structures seem to subtly warp and reform as if they are living, breathing creatures rather than mere architecture.

He finally looks up at his irritated kin and greets the other with a wide smile. Hovering over the platform in front of him looms a wretched monstrosity of tendrils and eyes that spill endlessly out of several gaseous voids. The eyes are cephalopodic in nature, and every orb is locked on him as the mass undulates.

"Why have you...seen fit to disturb my followers' rites?" Hermaeus Mora asks. 

"I'm sure you know better than me. I'm called to gatherings that need a little enlivening," Sanguine answered simply.

Dusting off his robes, he rises to his feet.

"My worshipers are none of your concern," The gravelly voice rumbles, seeming to come from everywhere. 

The sea ripples. Viscous waters crash against the sides of the platform. Ah, so the mass of surging darkness and tentacles is trying to be intimidating. And sure, had Sanguine been mortal, the whole presentation might be off-putting, possibly maddening, but he wasn't. 

"No, but I guarantee they'll be talking about me crashing your little cult for ages to come," Sanguine replies with a laugh. 

"You are...impossible," Hermaeus bellows, tendrils flicking in displeasure.

"I think insatiable is more accurate," Sanguine corrects with a wicked grin.

"Shed your disguise. It looks...loathsome on you," the monstrosity spits.

Sanguine gives a sly wink. "I knew you wanted to see me in the flesh."

He swears dozens of eyes roll at his shameless reply. At the request, the tan flesh of his mortal disguise melts away. Sanguine's frame grows to his usual imposing height. He stands proud as his ashen skin, ruddy tattoos, and curling horns reform. Still, he doesn't bother fabricating any heavy Daedric armor. 

No, there's no point in trying to be impressive here. It won't work. Instead, Sanguine drapes his broad Dremora body in a teal embroidered robe that drapes scantily over one shoulder, leaving most of his chest exposed. A wide leather belt adorned with several skulls holds the garment in place and cinches around his waist.

"I do not wish to see you at all…" Hermaeus grumbles. 

"Now, that's just not true. You wouldn't have dragged me here if you didn't want to have a little'ol chat in private."

"Better than you disturbing my cult…"

"Oh, come on, Hermy," Sanguine casts a knowing glance at the hovering mass. "We both know how dreadfully dull existence is, and I can be pretty entertaining."

"Do not refer to me in such a way."

"You like it," Sanguine presses. 

"No...I tolerate you."

"Aw, that's sweet of you."

A sigh reverberates from the undulating form. "To what do I owe your...intrusion."

"Again, ya didn't have to take me to your humble abode, which you keep ignoring," Sanguine reminds. "But, anyway. Since I'm here, let's liven things up and make a deal."

"You are aware I only seek...information. What could you possibly offer me that I do not already know?" Hermaeus asks voice halting and strangely flowing as ever.

"Knowledge of the flesh," Sanguine offers with a lopsided grin, hands moving to show off his muscled frame with a flourish. 

Another sigh emits from his kin.

"There is more to existence than...carnal knowledge, Sanguine," Hermaeus criticizes. "If you wanted to be touched...you could have found a tavern patron, a priestess….anyone else."

"So you aren't interested in knowing more? How unlike you," Sanguine prods with another devilish smirk. 

"I know everything there is to know about baser desires...and beyond," Hermaeus argues. 

Tendrils reach toward him, and Sanguine doesn't move away. Thick, slimy feelers skim down the side of his cheek and chest before wrapping about his waist, leaving trails of oily ooze in their wake.

"Hey, that tickles," Sanguine chuckles, squirming at the wet sensation but not trying to escape the wandering touch. 

"All I have to do is touch you...and I seep into your mind, your desires, and...know them. You have...nothing to offer. As I already understood from the start," Hermaeus rebukes.

"Humor me then, read me like one of your books," Sanguine prompts, throwing out his arms in invitation. 

Countless eyes stare down at him. After a moment of contemplation, boneless appendages encircle his biceps and thighs, lifting him off the ground toward the writhing mass of kaleidoscopic eyes and oozing limbs. The movement does nothing to intimidate, only entice.

"You are...bored. Looking to stir up trouble. You go where you are not wanted...to seek the simplest of pleasures...distractions...like a novice youth. Drink, pranks, the desires of the flesh...these are the only things you concern yourself with, as a shortsighted mortal would," Hermaeus begins, voice monotonous and bottomless as the void.

"Is this a reading or a roast?" Sanguine snorts.

The question ends in a groan as a tentacle wraps around his throat and gives a warning squeeze. 

"You enjoy anything...everything that concerns the body," Hermaeus continues.

Tentacles skim down his sides, tracing his tapering, muscled waist and the curve of his spine. Like searching hands, a few tendrils slither past the hem of his robes to squirm over his chest, flicking pert nipples. 

"Now we're getting somewhere," Sanguine encourages, wiggling delightedly in the strange grasp.

Hermaeus Mora is getting tired of his voice, it seems. The tendril around his neck is joined by another that slides across his lips like a gag. Tentacles make quick work of his meager clothing. His robes, belt, and loincloth fall away, only to disappear into wisps of smoke before they hit the floor. 

"You are as easy to play as a lute," the Wretched Abyss hums as the slimy touch goes south to more sensitive territory.

Sanguine can't help but moan as a damp appendage wraps around the base of his cock and gives a squeeze. 

"Giving...taking...it does not matter to you," Hermaeus muses. 

The slippery touch dips lower, circling his entrance. That's all the warning Sanguine gets before a tentacle spears him. He jolts at the sudden, slick intrusion, but the other is right; it wasn't unwelcomed. 

He gasps and juts his hips down, trying to fit more of the wet tendril inside him. Fuck! He should have taunted Hermaeus sooner if he knew it'd go like this. 

Patience doesn't seem to be in Hermaeus's playbook at the moment. A muffled whimper escapes Sanguine when another moist tendril joins the first, stretching him further and scissoring him apart. Movement coils around his penis, coming to milk him in tandem with the slowly pumping tendrils burrowing in his ass. 

Fuck, yes!

"I could stretch you to your limit." Another thick appendage wedges into him, making Sanguine's clawed toes flex and back arch taut as a bowstring. "Gag you, spear you, tear you...open." 

The tendril silencing him moves to part his lips, and Sanguine greedily accepts. He eagerly sucks the tip of the tentacle into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he draws on it in earnest. 

His kin tastes of old molding paper and sea salt. Not a great flavor, but better than anticipated. Hermaeus isn't content with his display and reaches further to slither down his throat.

"...Dig through your viscera, coil around your bones, bend you in impossible angles," Hermaeus goes on slowly and probes deeper, faster. 

Ah, shit! Sanguine groans as another fatter tendril slips inside. He truly begins to think he might burst. That the other Prince will make good on his not so subtle threats. Still, Sanguine leans back and offers himself, legs spreading wide, ready to accept all the Abyss offers. 

"And you would still find every motion...every violation...pleasurable."

Sanguine can't help but nod and moan. He most definitely would. He doesn't exactly enjoy harming others to the extent that some of his brethren do, like Mogal Bal, but his flesh can't help but renter most contact pleasurable.

"Because you are...disgusting," the Abyss rasps.

It's too much. Mora's words and meticulous probing send Sanguine over the edge. He reaches completion for the moment, thick ropy seed spilling from his tip. 

Seemingly content with the demonstration, tendrils retreat. Hermaeus dumps him on the floor unceremoniously, leaving him empty, wanting. Sanguine gasps as his knees hit the old books and pages forming the floor, afterglow shaking his frame.

"Damn, I had no idea you could talk so dirty," Sanguine admits, looking up at the grotesque, floating mass.

"A...poor use of my skills."

"Maybe. But you got me, I enjoyed every moment; however, you also exposed yourself."

Uncountable eyes narrow at him.

"Explain," Hermaeus demands.

"I doubt you've ever just felt what I did," Sanguine answers, cocking an eyebrow. 

"You are a fool. I could feel your desire, your pleasure...through you."

"Yeah, I am an open book. But you know what your problem is, Hermy? You're a collector. All these books, all the minds you've peered into, all these portals you spy through; you're just a voyeur," Sanguine says, weaving words without much thought, but they feel correct. 

He's a great debater, having hung around enough inns and drunkards to be able to sniff out inadequacy and weakness and twist it for his entertainment. He stands and reaches out to touch a writhing tendril, hand skimming down the slippery surface before it retracts.

"I doubt you've ever experienced much first-hand; it's always been through another vessel," Sanguine surmises.

"Knowledge is knowledge. I do not have to lower myself to such...depraved depths to understand what I want to know," Hermaeus rasps in disgust. 

"That's your choice, I guess. An infinitely boring one, though. Let me tell you." Sanguine pauses to whistle through his pointed teeth. "You're missing out, BIG time."

"I miss nothing. I see everything. I know...all there is to know about all matters." 

"Then prove it," Sanguine challenges with a sharp grin. "Show me you have the knowledge."

The Abyss goes silent, seeming to constrict in on itself as it contemplates his words.

"Come on, Mora," Sanguine presses. "When was the last time you weren't a gaseous, writhing ball? You hide, content to watch and touch on occasion, but never receive anything yourself."

"...You just want to add another...conquest to your growing list."

Sanguine chuckles at the other's assessment. 

"Okay, okay. Ya got me. But I think I have you too, don't I? Here's the deal. You let me touch you, _really_ touch you, and I promise you'll feel and learn things you never have before."

The silence stretches for several long moments. Large cephalopodiceyes search Sanguine while smaller ones look away, scanning back and forth at something unseen, likely sifting through memories as the Abyss considers his words. Suddenly, all eyes swivel to focus back on him. 

The ground beneath them shifts, lifting further from the water. Books begin to stack and bend around the edges of the circular platform. Rising like walls, the tomes encase them creating an annular chamber. 

"The deal is...permissible," Hermaeus Mora says carefully. "However, if anyone else learns about our agreement, it is forfeit. And I will use all of my capabilities to...cage you at the bottom of the acidic sea."

What? Sanguine's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, half expecting to be expelled from Apocrypha for the suggestion alone. Not this. He must have really struck a chord in the strange Daedric Prince. 

"You have my word," he promises.

Delighted by the turn of events, he eagerly watches as the floating void above shrinks further into itself. Tentacles press together, forming the outline of a body until they bleed into a semblance of green flesh. 

Hermaeus can't appear 'normal' even by Daedric standards when trying it seems. Something like a solid being now hovers before Sanguine. From the torso up, Hermaeus looks like a strange amalgamation of Dremora and mer. He has a chest, arms, shoulders, neck, head—passing most of the usual checkmarks of a body. 

Black tattoos mark the Abyss's face, and two, thin ebony horns curl from his writhing hairline. But the delicate, sharpness of Hermaeus's cheekbones, jawline, and pointed ears speaks more of mer origin, not unlike his favorite servant Xerxes. Dark green tendrils cover his head like hair and would probably brush viridescent shoulders if they didn't keep floating and tangling in the air. 

A series of black-gold eyes dot the wretch's face. Two large cephalopodic eyes are in the right place. But smaller orbs fan across the crown of his head in a constant upward cascade, making them impossible to count. The tiny eyes disappear where his squirming hairline starts, only to reform again at the apex of his browline. 

Below the belt, Hermaeus remains boneless and flowing as ever. His thin, toned waist ends in innumerable suckered tentacles that scuttle wetly across the floor when he finally touches the ground.

Sanguine wasn't sure what to expect from the other. Something more bipedal, maybe? Then again, having seen Hermaeus Mora like this, he can't really picture the anomalous form any other way. 

When one of Hermaeus's legs wrap around his side, Sanguine releases the breath he doesn't realize he's been holding. Hideous yet alluring, the otherworldly horror smoothes a wayward tendril behind its ear, where it coils around clawed fingers with a mind of its own. 

"I believe you will find this form more...useful for our deal," Hermaeus flatly states. 

It's different seeing the Abyss speak with a mouth of sharp teeth. Mora's words echo from everywhere and are out of sync with his green lips' movements. Even outside of his incorporeal form, Hermaeus is still impossibly strange.

Sanguine places a tentative hand on the other Prince's side, half expecting the damp flesh to give way into a mass of tendrils. Instead, he's met with smooth, rubbery skin, like that of a whale. 

He's never seen Hermaeus take such a form before. It's doubtful many ever have. Grotesque, mesmerizing eyes stare up at him, searching his face. 

"I know being conventional isn't your style, but mind if I take a peek underneath?" Sanguine asks, reaching his other hand to smooth between boneless legs. 

A tentacle wraps around his wrist and removes the wandering touch, wrenching his forearm behind his back. 

"Everything below is...satisfactory for this lesson," Hermaeus answers firmly. 

"I'm sure it is." Sanguine smirks at the other's controlling nature. 

He's still curious but can bide his time. 

Tentacles begin to wind around his side and down his legs. Suckers apply pressure to the back of his knees, forcing Sanguine to kneel. He willingly goes down, letting the slick appendages guide him until his back is against the ground. Healed from their last session and becoming hard from the forwardness, Sanguine relaxes into the other's touch. 

"Let us...begin," Mora prompts.

Strange legs slither over him. The webbed membrane connecting Hermaeus's tentacles remind Sanguine of a woman's skirt as the Abyss lifts and settles himself deftly over his sharp, black hips. 

There's definitely some sort of hole under the mass of tendrils. A warm, moist cleft teases his tip before sinking onto him. The wet embrace is so tight, Sanguine moans and briefly closes his eyes at the sensation. The warm passage manages to get about halfway down his girthy, ridged length before stopping.

A strangled sound comes from above, making Sanguine's black eyes open. A look of discomfort flickers across Hermaeus's face. He watches as sharp fangs bite down onto a thin, green lower lip—inky blood leaks from the wounds and down the Abyss's chin. 

"You need to relax," Sanguine urges, stroking one of the tentacles encouragingly.

"I am...fine," Hermaeus assures stubbornly.

Mora rocks his weight, but only takes an inch or so more before shuddering and stopping again. Sanguine can smell the humiliation seeping from the other Daedra's pores. Granted, Hermaeus is weirdly damp and slimy on the regular but didn't seem to account for just how much lubricant is needed to insert a Daedric cock.

Like the rest of their kin, Hermaeus Mora is exceptionally proud. Too much so to ever admit any pain or weakness willingly. But it seems to Sanguine that he's really hit the nail on the head. Sure, the strange Daedric Prince had delved into the depths of others with his tendrils, but it appears more and more like he genuinely hadn't allowed another to do the same in return. 

Honestly, Sanguine didn't want to hurt Hermaeus. There wasn't much fun in that, in his opinion. He enjoys coaxing others down the path to greater hedonist pleasures and allowing them to fall into depravity willingly. It was so much sweeter. And watching the Abyss try to hold onto his dignity when clearly out of his depth is absolutely delectable on its own.

"Okay, enough." Sanguine pulls at the tentacle keeping his one arm bound, and it reluctantly loosens. "I have a better idea."

Sitting up, he reaches for the monstrosity and takes Hermaeus by the waist. He lifts the aquatic form enough to slip out of the tight passage. An indigent sound rumbles in the back of the horror's throat, but he makes no further protest and settles onto Sanguine's lap.

Sanguine could easily poke fun at the 'all-seeing' deity and thinks about teasing the other for a second. He's keenly aware that Hermaeus's many eyes already won't meet his. The embarrassment is palpable in the air. He was right; all-knowing doesn't necessarily mean all-experienced.

Still, Sanguine gets the distinct feeling that if this goes too poorly, he'll never see Hermaeus Mora like this again, and that would certainly be a shame. Making good on his deal seems like a better recourse. But he can't help but drink in the other's silent humiliation as he strokes a clawed hand along the angular, green jaw. 

"You alright?"

"I...detest this form. It is so...limiting," Hermaeus admits. 

"Be that as it may, I rather like it."

"That is only because I am more...comprehensible to you."

Sanguine leans closer, pressing his face against the other's rubbery neck. His long, warm tongue swipes down damp skin before pressing open-mouthed kisses up the column of Mora's throat. The Abyss just needs a little more motivation down the right path.

"Hm, delectable is more like it," Sanguine replies, stroking the thin waist. 

The monstrosity in his lap shivers. 

Sanguine's sharp teeth graze strangely textured skin before lips capture and suckle on a soft earlobe. A breathy sigh escapes Hermaeus. His clawed fingers tip the Wretched Abyss's face toward him to lick off the dark, bloody trails that stain the pointed chin.

When he tries to press their lips together, Hermaeus pulls back, clearly understanding what a kiss from him can do.

"I do not wish to...lose my wits."

"That is kind of the point here, Mora," Sanguine chuckles teasingly. "You make others lose their minds all the time. I think you can loosen your inhibitions just a little."

Countless eyes fix him with an unconvinced look, but Mora doesn't pull away this time. Burning lips met cool, clammy ones. Fuck yes—about time. Sanguine eagerly delves his tongue into the other's mouth. A tentative snake-like tendril coils around the warm muscle. Strange, but not unpleasant.

The Abyss quivers. Cool arms wrap around Sanguine's shoulders as tentacles loop tighter around his waist and thighs, suckers latching onto his burning skin. He cards a clawed hand through the writhing hair to grip the base of Mora's head. Thin tendrils entwine delicately around his wrist in return. 

Sanguine leans forward, using his weight to tip the other backward. He reaches a hand under the wriggling mass of tentacles to feel flat, smooth flesh underneath the webbed mantle of skin. Searching fingers graze a velvety, damp hole in the center of a soft mound. 

He eases a finger inside, far kinder than the Abyss has been earlier. Hermaeus moans, tongue tangling more sloppily with his own. Muscles flutter around his finger and squeeze the intrusion curiously. Sanguine pulls the touch in and out, earning another throaty sound.

He breaks their kiss to trail burning lips down the monstrosity's neck and chest. All the while, he works the other open, one finger becoming two. At the stretch, the tentacles encircling him spasm then relax their hold. Slithering to the side, one tendril dips beneath the webbing to lift it up, allowing him to finally see beneath.

Sanguine sits back to admire the writhing, panting form under him. He swears the monstrosity's cheeks are a deeper shade of olive than before. He glances down, watching his touch slide deeply into the wet entrance. 

The Abyss is right; the delicate cunt he formed for their tryst is definitely satisfactory. Cute even. Sanguine lets his other hand skim the soft outer folds of the intimate flesh. 

Scooting back, he bends down to taste the other. Hermaeus muffles a cry as he begins to tease at the green bud with his tongue and lips. The muscles around his fingers tighten. Slickness coats his fingers, and he withdraws them, pinning the clenching hole open with his thumbs to thrust his hot tongue inside instead. 

Tendrils quake. Boneless appendages snake across Sanguine's shoulders while others slap mindlessly against the floor. It did wonderful things for his ego to have the Wretched Abyss squirming beneath him in pleasure. Slimy tentacles entwine around his neck and horns, half holding him in place, half encouraging him. Not that Sanguine needs it; he knows he's doing damn fine. 

Every plunge of his tongue makes the body under him tremble. When slickness generously smears his lips and oozes down his chin, he removes his tongue to twist around and abuse the soft, green clitoris again. 

Fingers slide far easier into the Abyss than before. Two digits become three, then three become four. At each addition, he drags a throaty cry from the other. 

Suddenly, the monstrosity convulses. A deep cry echoes from everywhere, shaking the tower they are in. Juices leak past his touch and dampen the pages forming the floor. 

Tentacles smack against the ground, twist in on themselves, then relax and still. The slimy appendages holding Sanguine limply release his head and fall to his sides. He sits up to see the fruits of his labor but doesn't remove his fingers, enjoying the tremoring tightness.

Hermaeus looks like a beached creature. The tendrils that form the Abyss's hair and legs lay listless and haphazard as he pants in the throes of his afterglow. Cephalopodic eyes catch him staring, and Mora moves a forearm to shield his face. 

Gates of Oblivion! The shameful look he catches painting the monstrosity's face makes his loins twitch. Sanguine can't help but snicker. He can see why Mora didn't often take this form; it ruins the ominous nature the Abyss liked to cultivate, especially when he acts like a blushing milkmaid. 

“Shut up,” Hermaeus mutters.

"I didn't say anything," Sanguine teases, only to have several tentacles slap his sides like rubbery whips.

"We are touching...I can still gather your thoughts."

"Come on, we're making such great progress here, sweetheart," Sanguine coaxes, and reaches to pull the other's arm away.

Hermaeus relaxes and fixes him with an exasperated expression. 

"Do not call me tha—AHH!"

A cry roars around them, and the look melts as Sanguine turns the fingers still inside of Mora like a key in a lock. Multiple eyes screw shut. He teases the other, thrusting his hand in and out, pressing down on the little bud with his thumb. A slick sound follows every entry. Muscles flutter around his touch, trying to keep his fingers inside. 

"Ymg' mgvulgtlagln!"

A language Sanguine doesn't understand echos around them. Green lips speak out of time with the unearthly, delirious sounds. Ah, but words of pleasure don't really need a translation. It's still music to his ears.

"Yeah? You like that, huh?" Sanguine smirks. "Then you'll love this."

Removing his slick fingers, he rubs the wetness on his generous length. Lining himself up, he breaches the stretched entrance easily this time. Despite the clammy skin, Hermaeus is deliciously warm inside. He grips the other's thin sides to steady himself. It takes all his control not to slam into the wet, inviting passage.

Rocking sharp hips, he teases the other, dipping only the head of his cock in and out. A soft squish sounds every time. The monstrosity moans beneath him, back arching. Tendrils wrap around him tightly again like an embrace. Strange hips kink forward, meeting his pace. Soon Hermaeus is willingly fucking himself on his length. 

Tendrils knit behind Sanguine's back, pressing them closer and closer until he's in to the hilt. Understanding that he can tempt even deities into debauchery is the sweetest knowledge of all. Sanguine feels damn sure that no one has ever seen the Wretched Abyss wrecked in such a way. 

He pulls back to lift the web of flesh, watching how Mora stretches with every thrust to accommodate him. The way folds part and hole widens as his ridged length drills deeply in and out is a thoroughly satisfying sight.

"Ah-hhh! Your...Your thoughts are so...base," Hermaeus manages to say between panting breaths. 

"But you like it. Just listen," Sanguine replies. 

He slows to plunge in as far as possible then all the way out. Every time they fully join, the most delectable sound of sloppy suction follows. The monstrosity's chest heaves. Moans echo as tendrils twist together like eels.

"Y' nog mgepzhro..."

Fuck, Sanguine hasn't a clue what Hermaeus is saying. It sounds sort of like an offshoot of the Daedric tongue. Still, it's impossibly gratifying watching the Wretched Abyss come undone under him. 

He bows lower over the squirming form, gripping the slim waist again to thrust more powerfully inside. The smooth, well-worked passage clenches covetously around him as if trying to draw him deeper and keep him there. 

Mora's clawed hands reach for him, gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer. Tendrils sucker onto the skin of his back as Sanguine does his best to pound the Abyss into the floor. 

Suddenly, a wayward tentacle curls around the base of him. Fuck! Sanguine can't help but growl at the delectable pressure. He almost releases into that rippling heat, but the tentacle tightens. 

Oh, the smart bastard. 

He keeps pace, thrusting smoothly. Mora's strange hips work to meet his every stroke. Tendrils twitch in time with their movements. Crawled hands scratch down his black, muscled back. Moans and otherworldly cries spill around them. The Abyss moves to press his now warm face into the hollow of Sanguine's collarbone. 

The tentacle around the base of his length relaxes its hold—finally! Gasping, Sanguine hammers into the other's slick entrance, painting the quivering walls with his thick release in hot spurts. 

"Ahph'nglui ya!"

Another unidentifiable curse rocks the tower. The body beneath him shakes as another orgasm rips through the monstrosity. Sanguine stops thrusting when the warm, sticky aftermath starts to coat the inside of his thighs.

The tendril at the base of his cock unwraps completely, sliding its tip to circle curiously around where they are still joined. The slimy, intimate touch pulls away, and the tentacle slithers up and rises into view between them. The tapering point is shiny with a mixture of their milky fluids, droplets landing on the green chest below. 

Multiple black-gold eyes seem to catalog how the liquid drips off the tentacle. Hermaeus opens his mouth, long tongue extending out to taste it. Sanguine groans appreciatively, starting to become hard again at the sight. 

"You dirty old monster," he purrs in delight, leaning down to capture the Abyss's mouth. 

Hermaeus accepts hungrily. Sanguine tastes a mixture of void salts and the sea as fiery lips and damp ones met and tongues tangle. Cool arms pull him until they are chest to chest. Clawed fingers twist into his black hair and come to grip the base of his horns. The wretched horror is so wanton, so willing, it sends tingles down his spine. 

He pulls back slightly, smirking down at the other. 

"Damn. I always knew you were a slut for knowledge. How does it feel to know it, too?"

Unnerving eyes give him a withering looking.

"Why must you always...ruin everything...with your indecency?" Hermaeus rasps. 

"Just keeping you informed, that's part of the deal, right?" Sanguine shugs and gives a cheeky smile. 

"Yes…" Hermaeus rumbles, voice echoing around them. "As you would say, 'you got me,' and you are going to keep showing me...everything I want to know."

The tentacles around him constrict, bordering on painful. He groans, enjoying the pressure. Hermaeus was definitely right earlier. The Abyss could break his frame, rip him open, and Sanguine would still get off to it. 

Boneless limbs start to force him back, wrapping under his arms like a harness. Sanguine lets the other switch their position and pin him to the ground again, entirely far too pleased to be used like this.

Clawed hands grip Sanguine's shoulders hard enough to draw pinpricks of blood. The writhing mass starts to ride him, angry, forceful, and oh so wonderfully. The tangled green head bows close, leaning down to give his muscled neck a savage bite.

"Fuck! That's good," Sanguine curses.

His nails rip down the monstrosity's back, before settling to grasp strange hips tightly again. Damnit! He's kicking himself for not teasing the other Daedric Prince sooner. They could have been rutting like this for centuries! 

He leans back for leverage to thrust up into that impossibly wet heat squeezing his cock. But there is no flat pressure along his back, just slimy tendrils holding him aloft. Sanguine glances down, realizing they are floating over the floor.

The tapering points of tentacles start to invade him again. Sanguine can't help but moan as an appendage slides into his hole to ravage him in tandem: all the while, the lean, otherworldly body rocks against him. The velvety, wet passage grips him greedily. 

For a moment, Sanguine wonders if he might actually lose his mind. The pleasure rippling through his is so intense, deep, and aggressive it makes wetness prickle his eyes. 

Suddenly, Mora bows to press his face against Sanguine's burning chest, as though suddenly shy about something. Still, the Abyss doesn't stop moving. 

"A gof'n ot kadishtuor mgr' luh…" Hermaeus moans lowly.

Fuck, Sanguine still has no idea what any of that shit means, but it sounds hot. Whatever overcame the Abyss passes just as suddenly as it came. He's not sure how long he stays suspended, getting fucked and used. 

Time never means much to Sanguine, and here in Apocrypha, it seems to mean even less. All he's aware of is his burning desire for more, the moans that quake the building around them, and the sharp slap of skin on skin. 

This is absolutely paradise.

* * *

Daedric Princes don't sleep, not in the way that mortals seem too. But they can enter into a dream-like, meditative state if they exert a lot of energy. 

Awareness twitches back into his tired frame, and Sanguine opens black eyes. He blinks, watching the book-made walls bob up and down as if he's on a boat adrift at sea. He's still floating, likely in the same chamber as before. The room smells of musky sex and sea salt. 

Sanguine feels claws card absently through his black hair. An arm lays across his broad shoulders too, fingers skimming the skin of his back. He groans at the sensation and presses the side of his face and chest firmly against the damp, clammy surface beneath him. 

Glancing down, Sanguine realizes he's laying on a thin, green torso. He stretches, feeling the tentacles wrapping around his lower body shift. Looking up, he finds that Hermaeus appears as he did during their tryst. The only difference is that a black void extends like a wide halo behind his green head, spewing tendrils and endless eyes. 

One of the feelers, distending from the darkness, holds up a black, leather-bound tome for the all-knowing Daedric Prince to read. Another holds an eerie, glowing quill that scribbles something onto the open pages. Probably details about what Hermaeus learned from their time joining over and over if Sanguine were to guess. 

The largest of Hermaeus's eyes, those on his face and floating behind him, shift back and forth, reading whatever knowledge he imparts into the black book. Smaller orbs peer down at him.

"So you're still yourself, hum?" Sanguine asks, tapping the solid chest under him.

"Idiot...I am always myself," Hermaeus answers, lips unmoving, voice echoing. "This form seems to...please you. So I have maintained it, in part...for the time being."

Claws graze along Sanguine's scalp softly, making him sigh. He's usually the love'em and leave'em type. But he has to admit, this isn't a bad turn of events in the slightest. 

Getting to fuck the all-knowing deity and be held afterward? All of it was wholly unexpected and oddly delightful. The whole thing made sweeter by the fact Sanguine is pretty confident he's the only one to ever get this sort of treatment. 

He plays with the idea of staying for another round in the back of his mind. Still, he really should be getting back. For one, he has a damn good tale to regale his sinners with, so long as he leaves Hermaeus's name out of it. And two, he can't properly heal here. Once or twice, sure, but multiples times? Not quickly. The process is more sluggish in his kin's realm than he would like to admit.

Looking down at his arms, Sanguine sees a series of sucker marks, bites, and scratches still adorning his ashen skin. Pretty in a way, but the exhaustion wringing his frame will make the aftermath mark him for longer than he would like. He feels drained in a way he can't remember experiencing before. The other Prince really wrung him out. 

The soreness thrumming through his frame and loins is pleasantly painful, though. He can't recall a time when he truly felt so wonderfully sore after a tryst. He also feels confident that he can talk Hermaeus into doing this again soon, given the fact that the Abyss seems to be acting astonishingly tender toward him now.

"It's been fun, Mora. Truly. But I should be getting back," Sanguine says. "Got new deals to make and sinners to tempt. You know how it goes."

"Ah...yes. You would want that," Hermaeus replies. Tendrils don't release their hold, however. Feelers snap the book closed and pull the items into the void hovering behind the tangled head. "But you see...fate has intervened."

"What are you talking about?"

"Unfortunately...for you," The Abyss hums. "Our deal has been...broken." 

"How is that even possible?" Sanguine snaps, irritated. "I haven't spoken to another soul yet. How in Oblivion could anyone find out about our deal?"

"Ah...I figured you were not aware." A sharp smile curls Hermaeus's still lips. "My champion has been fulfilling their search for knowledge. They found another one of the many Black Books I have dispersed throughout the Nirn and entered into my realm. In my...distracted state, I could not welcome or guide them properly through the chapters. So, they wandered, lost...toward the loud sounds of our coupling. The walls of Apocrypha, though mighty, are known to shift and reassemble, leaving holes...to peer through."

Sanguine gasps at him. "You bastard. You did that on purpose!"

A deep laugh reverberates through him. The arm holding him moves, hand coming to smooth along his jawline, thumb whisking his cheek. 

"I cannot force someone to read what I offer. They must do so...willingly. Just as you willingly disrupted my shine and struck a deal with me." Hermaeus reminds. "Besides...you were already contemplating staying. I know your mind...even better now than before." 

"Hermaeus, let me go," Sanguine presses, using a more respectful title for the first time.

A mucky laugh reverberates around them again as tendrils tighten around his frame. Fingers continue to play with his hair. The hand cupping Sanguine's face tilts his chin until they are eye level.

"I am not so cruel as to try and keep you...forever. After all, it is not as if it was your intention to break our deal. Merely, an unfortunate set of circumstances occurred. Fate is….fickle. Would you not agree?"

"You can't keep me here like some mortal pet. I'll find a way out," Sanguine promises. 

Given time, he can crack through this realm of Oblivion and back into his own, but that would take energy he doesn't currently have. 

"I know. I will not hold you here for too long, I assure you," Hermaeus replies. "But I hunger for knowledge and, as you have helped me discover...exclusivity. You will stay until I am...sated. And consider it this way...you will not be bored here."

Oh, fuck. Sanguine starts to struggle, but tentacles keep him in place as fingers continue to stroke him. 

"You need to...relax, Sanguine," The Abyss rumbles. 

Hermaeus leans forward to press clammy lips against the shell of his ear. Whispering words start to leak into his mind. It feels like the Abyss is speaking directly inside his head. 

The soft words are delicate, but everywhere, invading and disrupting his thoughts. Not fair. The otherworldly horror paints visions on the canvas of his mind. Sanguine half hears half sees all the twisted things the Abyss weaves into his head. 

All the positions they have yet to knot themselves into. How Sanguine has yet to fill, satisfy, and empty himself into every hole the Abyss can offer. How deeply Mora craves to twist inside of him at every angle. All the different amalgamations of intimate parts the horror wishes to test out with him—only with him. And then, only when the Abyss was a writhing mess unable to form comprehensive thoughts or hold its shape, Hermaeus would gladly allow him to be free. 

Sanguine groans as the deliciously awful thoughts pour into his brain. His sore loins twitch, clearly interested in the indescribable pleasures the other is offering. Oh shit. 

He begins to realize that maybe, just maybe, he should have thought this whole thing through a little more. The Wretched Abyss knows way too much about him. What exactly to say to tempt him in return. 

Damnit. 

"F-fine," Sanguine offers wearily as another wave of tiredness washes through him.

"Delightful…"

Fuck, this is a terrible idea, but the delights the horror offers are impossible to turn down. That, and he can't exactly leave of his own will right now. 

"Alright, new deal," Sanguine proposes. "Let me rest first, and then I'll pound you any way you want. But afterward, you let me go, no bullshitting."

He swears a purr of pleasure echoes around him. Hermaeus releases his ashen face, arm encircling him again. The hand playing with his hair presses his burning face against a damp chest possessively. 

"Yes...of course," Hermaeus rumbles, sounding sincere. "Rest for now. You will need your strength for what I have planned...my mate."

Oh...fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, Hermy speaks R'lyehian. Duh. 
> 
> Ymg' mgvulgtlagln: Curse you!
> 
> Y' nog mgepzhro: I come undone...
> 
> Ahph'nglui ya: Fill me!
> 
> A gof'n ot kadishtuor mgr' luh: A child of knowledge sees...
> 
> Rough translations. Mora is basically Elder Scrolls Yog-Sothoth. So, just threw that in there for laughs.
> 
> Other than that, happy Kinktober! This isn't for any kink memes or anything, just felt like it. After replaying Skyrim for the 7 billionth time and dabbling in Oblivion and Morrowind I skimmed through fics here. I found only one other Mora/Sam (which is insanely hot, why is there not more???), which the start of the fic is based on. Go read Daedric Lore if you haven't. Hope y'all enjoy reading this weirdness as much as I had writing it. 
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AmputeeTrainee). <3


End file.
